Mortality
by Alilacia
Summary: This is the tale of just how Aragorn came to live in the House of Elrond. About how everything went so wrong, when it seemed to be so right. Loss, pain and anguish are inevitable it seems when you befriend a human being.


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Mortality

By: Alilacia

Rating: PG-13

Feedback: 

Spoilers: None that I can think of.

Disclaimer:

I do not own the Lord of the Rings, or anything to do with the film or books. That honour goes to Peter Jackson (et all) and J.R.R Tolkien. I have no permission what so ever to use these characters, will not receive any money for this, and am doing this for my own enjoyment. And to get away from doing my college assignments

All the characters belong to J.R.R Tolkien, and only Olantien and Nebridë actually belong to me. But if anyone wishes to use them, all you need to do is ask.

Series:

Mortality

Summary:

This is the tale of just how Aragorn came to live in the House of Elrond. About how everything went so wrong, when it seemed to be so right. Loss, pain and anguish are inevitable it seems when you befriend a human being.

Mae govannen!

This is the first instalment in The Lennath Series. According to the site I found on the internet 'Lennath' is apparently journey's in Sindarin. I apologise if it isn't, my elvish skills are not the best in the world.

So in English it is basically 'The Journey's Series'. I decided to call it The Journey's Series, because that is basically what all the stories are about: Legolas' and Aragorn's journey's though life, and the paths it takes them on. Actually, the later stories will be since this one focuses on Aragorn mostly.

This is the first and only chapter of Mortality and I hope you enjoy it.

Well, this is my first attempt writing a Lord of the Rings story, so fingers crossed. :crosses fingers:

Just a few things to point out. This is a story about how Aragorn made his way to Rivendell as a child.

I (like so many others) take the view that Aragorn was raised in the house of Elrond, and that Elrond was sort of like Aragorn's adopted Father, and Elladan and Elrohir will be like adopted brother's to Aragorn.

Tolkien himself does say that Aragorn was 'raised in the house of Elrond.' At least, I'm fairly sure that he does. So will you please not take offence at the fact that I killed off Gilraen with Arathorn. I am well aware that she was the one who brought Aragorn to Rivendell, and lived there for many years before she died. But, in any future stories I may write, Gilraen and Arathorn both lost their lives in that attack by the orcs.

Oh yeah. I borrowed a one thing from the Mellon Chronicles written by two wonderful authors, Cassia and Siobhan. All I used was the idea that Arathorn will have picked Lavender for his wife. I hope they are not offended by this, and I merely fell in love with the idea when I read it in Siobhan's story "Sickness."

And, while I am talking about them, I really would recommend that you read their work.

It can be found here on under the user name Cassia ( ) or at The Mellon Chronicles ( ).

I hope you enjoy the story.

I have not read the Silmarillion, or any of the other history/information books published regarding the Lord of the Rings. So I apologise if there are any mistakes in these stories. Feel free to let me know if there are. I am learning new things each day, and I owe quite a few people major thanks for some of that information.

This story isn't actually beta'd so there are probably quite a few mistakes in this.

Namárië nin mellyn

Alilacia

Mortality

The sun was just rising, its warm rays smiling down on the lush valley that held Rivendell. The day was bright with the promise of things to come and there was not a troubled soul in Imladris.

Imladris, or Rivendell in the common tongue, was the home of the Noldor Elves. The Lord of Imladris was called Lord Elrond, a wise elf who had seen many things in his time on Middle-earth.

His sons, Elladan and Elrohir too had seen many years and had had their own fair share of sorrows.

But none of this could be seen in their eyes as they quickly ran down the stone steps, their laughter heard for miles as they swiftly packed some small bags into their travelling packs.

Elrond smiled at their antics. His hands rested on the ornate balcony railing and he listened with amusement as Elrohir goaded his brother into another argument. This one seemed to be about how many orcs they were going to kill.

His smile slipped and he sighed. Any planned hunting trip with these two always undoubtedly turned into something more.

He turned away from the balcony as they galloped out of the gates. All he could do now was pray that nothing unfortunate would befall them and that he would not be forced to patch them up again.

Shaking his head he turned into his store room. Iluvitar knows that those two attracted trouble like a moth to a flame.

A horse pushed its way through the undergrowth. Elladan snickered as the rusting of leaves indicated Elrohir's arrival.

"Beat you again brother."

Elrohir glowered at his brother and wrung his hair between his hands.

His raven coloured hair was dripping and his clothing was damp.

At the sight of his brother trying to dry his water-logged hair Elladan dissolved into a fit of laughter.

"Oh shut-up Elladan." Elrohir purposely swung his hair swiftly over his shoulder, spraying Elladan with water.

"Hey..." Elladan glared at his sibling and wiped the water off his face. "It wasn't my fault you weren't paying attention, hit the branch and landed in the stream."

"Oh yes it was! You were the one who shouted that there was a Warg behind us."

Elladan rolled his eyes and turned back to the woodland path they were on. "I was merely testing your reflexes brother."

Elrohir opened his mouth to retort when his attention was drawn by the soft sound of footfalls. Quietly stepping down from their horses they moved silently towards the bushes, arrows notched and bows ready.

Elladan quietly moved the bushes away long enough to see a brown stag run back into the forest. He and Elrohir shared a grin, their previous argument forgotten for the moment, and gave chase.

The hunt was on.

Arathorn blinked as the piercing light from the sun cut through the leaves and shone into his eyes. He shook his head to clear the spots of colour and turned his gaze back down onto the ground.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he found the plant he was looking for. He reached down with his right hand and crushed some of the small purple flowers with his hand. His smile widened as he brought the crushed plant up to his nose.

Lavender.

He knew the plant by sight, but the smell always seemed to relax him. It was the smell that always seemed to follow his wife around, and so it was instinctive of him to seek it out.

The sound of wood crackling drew his attention and he pulled some of the lavender from the ground. Gilraen was awake and tending to the fire. His smile hadn't faded as he stood and began to work his way back to their temporary camp.

The forests around them were lush, and one couldn't help but feel at peace here. Arathorn had never known any place like this, and he often found himself travelling back here when he wanted to find a sense of peace that one could never find easily in the wilds.

As he stepped into the camp his heart lightened to see Gilraen crouched in front of the fire. Her hair was pulled back behind her ears and she was coaxing the flames to burn brighter. A metal pot lay to the side, full to the brim with vegetables and other things.

The smell of the lavender he was carrying must have caught her attention for she raised her head and graced him with a brilliant smile. She wiped her hands together to remove the ash and moved to embrace her husband.

Arathorn wrapped his hands around her waist and their lips met in a gentle kiss.

A shrill cry met their ears and Gilraen chuckled as she pulled gently away from the kiss.

"It sounds like our son is hungry."

Arathorn smiled along with her and followed her into the temporary lean-to where they slept at nights. Inside was a small bed with a swaddling of fabric laying on the blanket. Arathorn watched as Gilraen walked over to their crying son and gathered him into her arms.

He shook his head as the child's small fingers made their way around Gilraen's long hair, and pulled out a small glass container. He carefully placed the lavender he had picked that day inside and put it down on the floor next to where Gilraen was sitting.

She smiled and used her free hand to touch the lavender, and brought it up to her nose as he had done moments before.

"How is he?"

Gilraen's expression became slightly clouded before she turned an affectionate gaze onto her son, and brushed some of his dark tresses out of his face.

"That fever looks as though it is dying down. It broke this morning, but I want to keep an eye on him to make sure it doesn't come back again."

Arathorn moved to his wife's side, and let his arm fall gently over her shoulders. He felt her settle back into his embrace and he softly kissed the top of her head. "That's good to hear. Can't have my little Aragorn getting worse now can we?"

In Gilraen's arms Aragorn had settled and his chest rose and fell as he slept. His hair was the same colour of his fathers, and he shared both his mother and fathers eye colour.

Gilraen placed a loving kiss on the top of Aragorn's forehead and softly placed him back on to the bed. A slight shifting of the baby in his blanket was the only sign that he had felt anything, and he slept on. Caught in the world of dreams.

Arm in arm they moved out of the lean-to. Arathorn slipped from his wife's side and moved to the perimeter of their camp. While this forest was a place of tranquillity for him and his family, something was stirring, and it gave him a sense of unease. He pushed that aside with a final thorough search of the surrounding undergrowth. There was nothing there that shouldn't be and he returned to his wife's side.

She handed him a small bowl containing the stew she had made from the vegetables they carried and the animal that Arathorn had caught that day. As she started to pour some in a bowl for herself she wondered if she should keep some warm for the other rangers who were travelling with them, but remembered that they had gone out on a hunt like Arathorn had done earlier that morning.

Smiling gently at her husband she started to eat her meal. The day was a bright one, and there was no threat of rain in the sky. There was nowhere she would rather be at this moment, and she was glad that she was here with her family.

Elladan silently cheered as his arrow found the heart of the stag.

They had followed it through the woods for quite a while. Each time they had gotten close enough to fire something had spooked it and the buck had darted back into the undergrowth.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Elrohir move to inspect the felled animal. He moved out of the bush and stood next to his brother.

"So... you think it's dead then?"

"If it isn't, it's doing a good job of hiding it."

"It was felled with my arrow, so there's no way it could have survived little brother."

"You are older by minutes only brother, and with your bow skills I'm surprised you managed to hit it at all."

"Why you little-"

Elrohir laughed and darted out of his brothers reach. It was amusing to get Elladan annoyed like this, even though Elrohir knew that Elladan wasn't really annoyed. They'd had this 'argument' several times already, and was one they were sure to have in the future.

"Little am I big brother. Compared to the size of your ego then maybe I am."

Elladan growled and lunged at his brother. The twitching smile at the corner of his lips gave away his amusement and soon the two of them were rolling around in the mud, each trying to gain the upper hand.

Their laughter rang out in the clearing as they each tried to get the other covered with as much mud and dirt as possible.

"Oh now see what you've done Elrohir. Father isn't going to be happy when I go home like this." Elladan grinned and punctuated his words by flinging a handful of mud over the front of Elrohir's tunic.

"See what I've done!" Elrohir grabbed some mud with his free hand and rubbed it into Elladan's hair. "You're the one that started this whole mess." He smirked and pulled his hand away from his brother's raven hair. "If anyone should be telling father anything it's you."

Elladan opened his mouth to retort when a large lump of mud was expertly thrown right into his mouth. Most of it splattered over his face but enough went into his mouth to stop him and make him gag to get rid of the taste.

Elrohir burst into hysterical laughter at the look on his brothers face. He looked like he had been forced to eat something horrid. The fact that he almost had was not lost on Elrohir and he dissolved into another fit of laughter.

Elladan spat out the last of the mud and stepped away from his laughing brother. A fiendish glint shone in his eyes and he took some mud into his hands. He shaped it into a ball and let it fly.

The mud hit Elrohir exactly where Elladan had been hit and it shocked Elrohir out of his laughter. Elladan watched with no small amount of amusement as Elrohir's eyes widened slightly and he started coughing to get rid of the taste.

Elladan raised an eyebrow at his coughing brother and that garnered a glare in return. He opened his mouth with a smirk but what he said was lost as their horses walked into the clearing.

Elrohir glared playfully at his brother as he rose to his feet, and murmured softly to his horse in elvish. Elladan ignored his brother for the time being and started to softly stroke the mane of his own horse. Both horses shifted slightly, and were tethered to the nearby tree.

"Well, I'd say that here is as good a place as any to set up camp, would you not little brother." Elladan glanced at the sky and noticed that daylight was failing fast. Small pinpricks of light were starting to shine in the sky as Middle-earth was preparing for nightfall.

Elrohir ignored the little brother comment again and nodded. He too had noticed the decreasing light. While they would readily hunt orcs, it was not safe to do so in the dark.

Both elves started up a small fire with some wood from the forest around them. Both settled around the fire and began to bicker softly amongst themselves, their every sense finely attuned to the forest around them.

Gilraen pulled the fabric covering the front of the lean-to open and moved over to the bed. Night had fallen long ago, and she had long felt the need to succumb to sleeps welcoming embrace. The other rangers had come and gone, and Arathorn and a few others had remained behind to stay on watch over night.

She pulled little Aragorn into her arms and settled back onto the bed. There was plenty of space on the bed for both of them, and she gently placed him next to her head.

As she pulled the blanket over her body her eyes closed and sleep over took her. Tomorrow she couldn't wait to go and explore the rest of the forest and see just what else there was here that she hadn't found already. If they made good time, they might be able to get to Rivendell within the next few days.

Arathorn poked at the fire, watching as the flames re-kindled in the groove they had made in the ground.

The night was a serene one, and Arathorn felt a deep sense of peace wash over him. If he was right, then they were only a days travel away from Rivendell. His forays as a Ranger often took him into Rivendell's woods, and he had long been friends with the Noldor Elves that inhabited these fair woods.

It had been many years by human reckoning that he had laid eyes on the elves of Rivendell and he longed to see them again. Gilraen, he knew, also longed to see the elves. She had developed a bond with the elves, and both had been told that they were welcome back at any time.

Now though, they had another reason for returning.

It had been about a year since Aragorn came into this world. Ever since Gilraen had been well enough to travel she had wanted to come back to Rivendell and show the elves their son. More than anything, Gilraen wanted there to be a place for her son to go in times of darkness. And she feared these darkest times would intricately involve her son, though she knew not how.

Arathorn could not understand this feeling of his wife's, but he did not question it. While he did not totally understand it, he too felt that something was brewing, and it didn't bode well for Middle-earth.

Something in the undergrowth caught the Ranger's attention and he moved to investigate. His bow was held tight in his hands and even as he moved towards the shrubs, one hand was reaching for an arrow. The other rangers drew out their weapons. Some drew swords, and others bows.

Each Ranger tensed as a shrill, echoing cry sounded in the darkness. They knew that sound anywhere. It was the sound of orcs.

Arathorn was reluctant to leave Gilraen and his son, Aragorn alone with orcs and so he motioned to the others to fan out and scan the perimeter.

The sound had been loud to his ears, and so it was clear they were close. And it wouldn't be long before they would be over run.

Elrohir paused from inspecting his fletchings as all the sounds in the forest seemed to still at once.

At his side Elladan's eyes narrowed and his hands automatically moved for his bow.

Moving swiftly through the trees, the two elves kept their gaze riveted on the darkness around them, their every sense finely attuned to the sounds of the forest. It was bothering the twins more than they cared to admit that the sounds so familiar to them had not yet returned.

By the time Elladan and Elrohir had reached one of the next clearings in the wood, a sound which struck a primitive fear in their hearts resonated through the dark silhouettes of the trees.

Grim were their faces as they wordlessly began to move faster through the forests that had harboured them for many a century now.

Elrohir reached back with his hands and pulled his bow in front of him. Calmly notching an arrow, he kept his eyes on everything around them; his gaze constantly shifting from the shadows of the trees to the barely perceptible path in front of them. The moons light was growing stronger as the hours passed by, and their unease rising as the sounds of the orcs became louder and louder.

With a sudden shriek, a large, bulking, black figure broke out of the bushes. The orc didn't have enough time to utter another guttural shriek as an elven arrow found its way swiftly into the vile creatures throat.

There was no time to even check the body, as a wave of figures broke noisily through the trees. Their piercing wails reverberating loudly in the wooded land that was their home.

Their elven arrows soundly found their marks, and soon a pile of orcs was gathering near the thick copse of trees. But for each orc that was cut down, three seemed to take its place. Soon the two elven twins had run out of arrows, and each returned to using the elven daggers that had served them well in the past.

The rangers were scanning the foliage nervously as they awaited the inevitable arrival of the orcs. The discovery that orcs roamed Rivendell's soils was unsettling to the humans, as orcs had not been sighted in these parts for many a year. There had been odd sightings, but these tended to be around Mirkwood forest and Dol Guldor, rather than Rivendell.

A little while ago the sounds of the forest had abruptly stopped, and the harsh sounds of the rangers' breathing seemed unnaturally loud in their ears.

They all sprung into action as the first of the orcs sprang out of the trees, its mouth opening in a angry snarl. At a wordless signal from Arathorn the rangers worked on pressing the orc back towards the trees. There was no way that the orcs would ever get near Gilraen or Aragorn.

More and more orcs pressed down upon them, and despite their best efforts to keep the vile creatures back, the rangers were soon overwhelmed. A cry echoed through each of the attacking orcs and Gilraen stumbled sleepily out of the lean-to.

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a silent scream as she saw her husband and the other rangers fighting against the bulking figures of the orcs.

Arathorn's attention was caught by his wife and he tried to wordlessly signal for her to run. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw one of the other rangers cut down with an orcish scimitar, the young man's blood spraying over the ground and the orc that had so ruthlessly taken his life.

Gilraen nodded and ran back into the lean-to. With shaking hands she grabbed Aragorn into her arms, soothing his cries as he was jerked roughly from his sleep. She scrabbled under the pillow and pulled out an ornate hunting knife. While it would be rather ineffective against the orcs, she hoped to make it as far as Rivendell. If she hurried then she might be able to reach the elven realms borders before she was forced to use the weapon in her hand.

She gathered Aragorn more securely in her grip and rushed out of the lean-to.

Her breath stalled in her throat at the carnage around her. The orcs were showing the rangers no mercy and two bodies were lying on the ground. With a growl and a groan of pain a third joined them and Gilraen felt her eyes close in anguish. These were good men, and it pained her to see them cut down like this.

She opened up her eyes and tore her tear-filled gaze away from the bodies of her friends.

Rustling in the bushes and the sight of the other ranger darting out of the woods lightened her heart slightly as she rushed away from the battle. Her husband had help now, and she had her own job to do.

She cried out quietly as the huge, shadowy form of an orc jumped out from the trees in front of her. She tried not to let her fear show in her eyes and she clutched Aragorn closer to her chest. It was as if the child could sense the danger that his mother was in, and he started crying shrilly in the night.

The threatening form of the orc in front of her growled. Gilraen felt her heart contract in fear and she stabbed out with the knife, not relishing but feeling relieved the moment the knife slid into the toughened flesh of the bony hand. The orc snarled in pain as she quickly pulled it back out and ran for the cover of the trees.

A sudden burning pain in her back made her stumble and she glanced down just enough to see the fletchings of an orcish arrow. The projectile was protruding from her back and she could feel the path her blood started to trail down her skin.

A second arrow made her body jerk and she fell to her knees. Her trembling hand held her body up to stop her from falling on her crying son, her body shaking as waves of pain lanced through her nerves.

Arathorn cried out in anger and pain as he saw his wife shot down. He was not sure if his son was still alive or not, and he felt salty tears fall from his eyes as he swung back around and swiftly beheaded an orc with a cry of anguish. Free for the moment from any opponents, he turned to where his wife way laying. The orc that had shot her was nearing her, and was snarling in glee almost, as the beast surveyed his latest kill.

Arathorn's eyes narrowed and he notched an arrow. His aim was true, and the arrow sailed through the air. The barb impacted cleanly with the orcs back, and he stumbled forward as the fact that he had been hit registered in his dark mind. The orc turned to face the ranger, and snarled. There was nothing that an orc hated more than being shot from behind.

Arathorn's attention was momentarily distracted as an orc rushed up to him from the right. He ducked the blow aimed for his head, and his sword sliced through the skin of the orc, and cleanly severed the arm from its body.

Gilraen felt her head swim as the growling of the orcs sounded close to her ears. She turned her head and noticed the arrow protruding from the back of the orc that was previously intent on spilling her blood. It was then that she noticed the bow in its hands, and the person it was aimed for. She quickly lay her son in the undergrowth and pulled herself to her feet, her knees trembling as blood loss and shock began to take hold. The orc didn't notice her unsteady approach and she pushed the knife into its neck with all the force that her damaged body could muster.

The orc howled an unearthly wail of pain and whirled to face her. Gilraen's breath caught as the orc stared murderously into her silver eyes, anger pain in its fiery depths. She tried to stumble away but the orc was quicker than it looked and she gasped in pain as a small knife found its way into her ribs. The light in the orcs eyes didn't last long as pain flickered through them before they glazed over, the scarred visage of the orc forever morphed in an expression of anger and lust for suffering.

Her legs gave out underneath her and she felt her body slump. Arms gathered themselves around her waist and she felt herself being enfolded into a pair of warm, strong arms.

"Oh Gilraen, don't give up on me now. We aren't far from Rivendell."

Arathorn looked down at the figure he cradled in his arms. His wife was looking so pale, and it worried his heart to see it. Blood was steadily running down his fingers, and he knew that he didn't not have long before he lost her. And there wasn't much time before he would be forced into the fray again.

He frantically tore off a strip from his cloak and pressed it against the wound, wincing at her gasp of pain.

Her trembling hands grasped weakly over his own, and he felt just how cold her skin had become. His own tears came unbidden as the glassiness in his love's eyes increased. She smiled through her tears and raised her head up just enough so she could press a wavering kiss to her husbands cheek. It was then that her body went limp, and darkness filled her vision.

Arathorn sobbed as he held the still form of his wife. No more breath was pulled in through her lips, and her face had turned the pale pallor of the dead.

Anger made his body shake fiercely, and he clutched his sword tightly with his right hand. With a cry he rushed to his feet and charged towards the nearest group of orcs who were just finishing off the last of his friends. He had no-one to help him now, and while it was not likely he would survive this encounter, he was going to take as many of them out as possible.

However, his anger and pain had blinded his normally sharp senses and he gasped as an orcish scimitar grazed his side. This was swiftly followed by a lance of pain in his shoulder as an orc stepped in close and slipped its dagger in his soft flesh. Arathorn stumbled with a soft cry of pain as the dagger was pulled sharply out of his shoulder.

Something moving swiftly caught his eyes and he felt pain like he had never felt before. Something was wrong with his eyes, and he felt darkness tug at him. A deadly strike from an orc knocked him onto the ground and he felt the air leave his lungs as he landed unmercifully on the hard ground.

A sharp pain spread from a single point on his chest, and the last thing he saw was the snarling face of the orc that took his life; and his last thoughts were for his wife and son.

One was dead, and the other would carry the hope of all.

Elladan wiped the orcish blood from his dagger and moved to pick up any arrows that had not been used already. His twin was doing the same beside him, and the forest was quiet once more.

As Elrohir picked up the last of his arrows, a very low guttural muttering and jeering reach his ears and his gaze was drawn sharply to a bunch of trees to the left. Elladan too had heard the noise and was already moving towards the sound. Elrohir wondered with a sigh just who else had had the misfortune of running into the orcs this night.

Elladan tensed as he came across the source of the jeerings. The orcs were gathering inside what looked like a human camp, and were searching through the human's belongings. Elladan could only guess that all of the previous occupants of this camp were lying dead on the woodland floor, no doubt killed by these very orcs.

He closed his eyes briefly as the pain of the mortal lives washed over him. He didn't like killing, not of innocents, and not in these woods. Elladan heard his twin let out a barely perceptible rush of air beside him. Opening his eyes grimly, he pulled out his bow and arrow, and aimed for the nearest orc. He heard his brother do the same and soon the orcs were lying dead on the ground.

Elladan and Elrohir shouldered their bows and walked out from the trees. They were still alert for any more orcs that might still be roaming the woods, but their main attention was drawn in by the carnage; by the blood spilt over the ground.

The twins started to walk among the felled humans, their hearts growing heavier with each new face they saw. While Elrohir moved into the lean-to to see if anyone had been killed in there, Elladan moved over to the last few people who lay bleeding on the ground.

His breath caught in his throat as he realised that he knew this one.

"By the Valar... no..."

Elladan's muttered words had caught Elrohir's attention and he moved to his brothers side.

"Oh no..." Elrohir reached over with mud stained hands and brushed the hair out of the human's face. He winced as he had to move his hand around the arrow that was embedded in the humans eye.

Elladan reached down with a slightly trembling hand to the human's throat, even though he knew this to be a fruitless endeavour. No-one could have survived an arrow to the eye. His body started to shake as the beat of life did not pulse underneath his fingers.

Another innocent lost.

A look of sorrow settled over the twin's features, and Elrohir just had to step away. He didn't like to look at his human friend, lying there on the ground.

A great sadness settled over his heart as he once again looked out over the camp. He quickly moved to the very edge of the clearing as he spotted Gilraen lying on the cold, hard ground.

His face paled, and he gently reached out with his hand to the tender arch of Gilraen's throat. His head fell forward as he felt nothing under his fingertips, and his sensitive hearing could not identify any breath entering her lungs.

"Elladan. Gilraen was lost as well."

Elrohir saw Elladan raise his head from across the ruined camp. Anger was intermingled with sadness on his face and Elrohir knew he was feeling at least partially responsible for these peoples deaths. Elrohir planned to talk with him about this later, but right now they had to give these people a proper burial. He held his hand over his heart, and sent a prayer to Iluvitar, asking Him to watch over these people as they passed from this world, his heart weary at the loss of two people that were very close to him.

As he stood from Gilraen's side a small noise caught his sensitive hearing. He moved slowly to the cluster of bushes a little ways away from Gilraen's head and gently moved them aside. What he saw there surprised him and brought a small smile to his lips despite all that he had seen this night.

He reached out and gently pulled the bundle of softly crying child into his arms. The child looked up to him with fearful silver eyes and didn't stop crying.

Elrohir rocked the child gently in his arms, soothing the child with softly spoken elven words. Elladan raised his head at the sound and his eyebrows raised slightly at the bundle in his twin's arms. He stood and moved to stand in front of his twin. His grey eyes widened as he pulled the blanket away from the tiny being held in Elrohir's arms.

"A human babe." he muttered in they grey tongue as he softly brushed the hair away from the child's face to reveal two rounded ears. "The only survivor from this massacre."

"Who do you suppose he is?"

Elladan's keen gaze scanned the blanket the babe was wrapped in, and locked on a small patch hidden in the corner of the dirty material.

Aragorn, son of Gilraen and Arathorn

The print was finely embroidered in the inside corner of the blanket, and a small White Tree of Gondor had been sewed next to the inscription.

Elladan's shocked gaze met his twin's as they both realised just what this meant. Lying in Elrohir's arms was the son of the late Gilraen and Arathorn.

"We should take him back to father. They will be searching for him if they know that he is alive."

Elrohir nodded with Elladan's words. Imladris would be the best place for the child right now.

He was saddened to leave the bodies of his friends out here, but he knew that this child must make it to Imladris as soon as possible. The two elven twin's made their way quickly back to their horses and travelled quickly to Rivendell. The faster they got there, the quicker they could get back to the camp and bury their friends.

Elrond was startled out of his readings as the sounds of rapid hoof beats echoed in the courtyard. He moved gracefully to his balcony and noted that his sons were back. Aside from their muddy appearance, they appeared to be well. He then noticed the expressions on his sons faces and hurried back into the room.

He quickly rushed outside to see his sons stepping down from their steeds. Both wore expression of utmost sorrow, and pain. Elrohir moved towards him first and revealed what he held in his arms.

The clear silver eyes of a human babe started back up at him, and the face was shining with the tears the young one had shed earlier. Elrond felt his heart go out to the little one and took him into his arms. Aragorn tensed as he was taken by this stranger, but felt reassured as the soft stream of words he didn't understand were spoken into his ear by a kind voice.

When Aragorn had quieted down in his hold, Elrond turned to his sons. "What happened out there in our fair woods, and who is this human child?"

"This is the child of Gilraen and Arathorn." Elladan's face was unreadable, and Elrond knew that his son was angered greatly by what had transpired out there today.

"They killed them all father." Elrohir's voice was quiet, and his upset gaze was fixed on the child for a moment before moving to meet his fathers gaze. "There was nothing left of the camp, bodies lying everywhere. We had to leave them there father. We didn't feel it safe for Aragorn to remain there any longer. Not with who he is."

Elrond looked down at the child in his arms. Already this child had a great burden placed on his shoulders, one that he would have to face in the future. But for now, this child would be raised here. He may not have known Gilraen and Arathorn very well, but in the time he had known them, they had become very dear friends to him.

Amidst the saddening of his heart, he knew that he must take this child in. Aragorn would be raised here in Imladris as a member of his house. As one of his sons. With a heavy heart, and a sorrowful gaze he turned back to his sons.

"Ride back to the camp. They were good people and they deserve to be treated as such. They need to be buried and not left to rot in the woods."

The twins nodded solemnly and mounted their horses again. Without another word, they raced back out of the gates.

Elrond sighed and turned back to his house. The child in his arms had not awoken, and if you could not see the tear tracks drying on the young ones face then it would appear as if nothing had affected the child. The Lord of Imladris deeply hoped that the young human child would not remember the events that transpired today.

With silent feet Elrond walked back up to his chambers. He laid the babe on the bed and watched the little ones chest rise and fall with sleep. A small smile graced his previously upset features, and he called out quietly to one of the elves walking down the hall. When the elf had walked to his side he spoke quietly, not wanting to wake the child.

"As soon as possible I would like a memorial made for Gilraen and for Arathorn. Please have them delivered to my chambers as soon as they are done."

The elf beside him nodded and rushed quietly down the corridor. Elrond ran his through his hair and moved back into his room. So a new member of this house had been delivered to them. Elrond didn't know why he needed any more sons, but he was not one to question fate. The son of Arathorn and Gilraen had been delivered for a reason, and it was not his place to question it. All he could do now was make sure that the child had a safe place to grow up in.

He owed that much to his friends, and to the child that lay softly sleeping on the bed.

The end.


End file.
